


Cumulus

by Titty_Now_Titty_Later (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Clouds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Titty_Now_Titty_Later
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi should be a weatherman. Talking about it would be easier than getting caught in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cumulus

**Author's Note:**

> https://soundcloud.com/fiascofinn/4-cirrus-drifting 
> 
> Fiasco's 'Clouds' EP gave me the initial idea, and 'Cirrus' (one of my favourite tracks) fits well with this fic. Go listen while you read, and give him some love.

Bokuto is… well... Bokuto is many things. He is a captain, a third year, an ace, a wing spiker, a hyperactive child in a man’s body and a temperamental idiot. He has up points – where he’s very, very up – and down points, which descend like a cloud passing over the summer’s sun. They’re uncomfortably chilly, like the wind that blows that cloud. But it’s that wind which also moves it away, allows it to pass. Soon the sun is beating down relentlessly once more and you almost wish for that cool shade to come back.

Bokuto’s clouds come in different forms. Akaashi doesn’t think even he knows all of them, but those he is aware of he knows well. He knows how to blow a cool wind to hurry the clouds on their way.

_Cirrus._

Sometimes Bokuto tunes in to what’s happening around him and picks up on something that doesn’t quite sit right; a small annoyance that draws a thin, icy veil over his countenance. Usually Akaashi doesn’t have to do anything. Bokuto will forget whatever it was, the warmth of his smile melting the tiny crystals and letting them disperse. Usually his mind will be overtaken by practice, or another statement (more agreeable with his mood), or Akaashi, _Akaashi, AKAASHI HEY-HEY!_

Sometimes the drifting, fragile cloud curls hairlike tendrils around Bokuto’s emotions and worms its way into his memory. Snapping them only takes the warm whisper of Akaashi’s breath when he calls out, “We’re not practicing spikes today?” Bokuto does the rest himself and whirls around with a bright grin. A smile like the sun. Akaashi basks in his warmth.

_Altocumulus._

Ripples disturbing the blissful smoothness of his happiness. A blocked spike, and another, and another until the ripples are waves breaking Bokuto against the rocks of his own imagined incompetence. _Everyone has off days._ It doesn’t matter. _He_ shouldn’t. _But he does._

Akaashi can’t offer Bokuto a toss lest he miss – _again._ Bokuto often makes thoughtless statements or rash choices. It takes a while for Akaashi to realise that the best thing is to probably listen to what Bokuto says in these moments when his frustration lays bare feigned self-consciousness. _Give me another toss_ and _another_ and _again, Akaashi_ and _I’ll make it count_ until the wind of Akaashi moving to fill these demands give way to a break in the cloud cover. _Don’t toss to me anymore._

All Akaashi can do is keep moving and hope that the wake of his passage is enough to brush the mist out of Bokuto’s eyes. It’s Akaashi’s job to let him see clearly and in that moment when the sun blinks sheepishly through the dispersing ripples he sends him one last toss, so he can _make it count._

_Cumulonimbus._   


The first and only time Akaashi had seen it had been at sunset. It’s breathtaking, really, watching that storm approach. The red sun paints the anvil in pink and gold and Akaashi can see lightning plays dancing in the thick, dark mess of it. The breath of air that is him whispering Bokuto’s name – a sound never meant to convey worry, a sound that’s meant to be strong and robust and shouldn’t sound brittle and sharp – only serves to pull the thunderheads over the golden glow of the sun.

Bokuto’s voice cracks like lightning and Akaashi feels it rumble in his bones. Words angry and hateful whip up a storm of wind, thunder and lightning and at the centre of it all is a man – a _boy_ who can’t see his own potential through his youth.

What disappoints Akaashi when they're sitting restlessly on the dry grass ten minutes later isn’t Bokuto’s actions – Akaashi has by this point realised he can feel many things at the whim of Bokuto’s actions, such as frustration and pride and reluctant entertainment, but knows disappointment will never be one of them. What makes Akaashi dig his short nails cruelly into his own palms is his failure to recall that while cirrus and altocumulus clouds never contain precipitation, rain is almost a given with cumulonimbus on the horizon.

When the wind dies down, when the lightning stops flashing overhead and thunder is only a distant, uneasy rumble – that is to say, when Akaashi thinks the worst is over… that’s the moment it starts to rain. He’s caught unprepared in the squall. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He can’t make it better. The thunderhead is thick and heavy and Akaashi doesn’t think he has enough air in his lungs to blow it away.

He puts a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder and it makes him shudder and shy away. _Not good enough, not close enough. He’ll push you away until you get too close, then hold on with everything he’s got._

He whispers Bokuto’s name. It’s the only thing he’s said since he’s come upon his captain - his _friend_ with the sun painting the sky in red and gold. But the sun's gone down and there are mosquitos biting Akaashi’s arms and legs. His mother will be reproving when he gets home. These things are dull realisations for him to worry about later, because there’s something more important right now. Bokuto is crying and all Akaashi can do is whisper his name and hope it's is enough.

It takes a whisper of Akaashi’s sincerity to blow the ugly, dark cumulonimbus away. It takes almost half an hour for Akaashi to find that sincerity and while he waits for it to happen upon him Bokuto hunches over beside him and tries to stifle sobs.

“You’re the loudest person I know, but you’re trying so hard to be quiet now,” Akaashi murmurs and swats absently at his arm. “I think it’s because you’re embarrassed, Bokuto-san. I would be, too. If I had talent like yours, and also the audacity to trivialise it.”

The rain, which had been slowing for the past few minutes, peters out. “I _know_ I’m good,” he hoarsely whispers from beside Akaashi in the dark. “I just want to be _better.”_

“The only way to do that is to practice, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi stands up. His pointed stare hauls his still-distraught companion to his feet. “Aren't you lucky Coach asked me to lock up tonight.” He rustles in his pocket for the cool, jagged steel key and throws it to Bokuto. “I’ll toss to you.” His mother will definitely be mad when he gets home. 

  


She can wait. 


End file.
